


Smoke Alarm

by l_am_adlocked



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 221B Baker Street, Chilled and relaxed but there's power play, F/M, It's like that scene where Irene is in Baker Street, and Sherlock and John were interrogating her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 12:09:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9234407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/l_am_adlocked/pseuds/l_am_adlocked
Summary: Irene Adler comes back to Baker Street with significant information, and is now under the interrogation of Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, and Mary Watson.





	

"Why is she here again?" John asks, sitting on the armchair he is used to sitting on when he was residing in Baker Street. Mary perched on the arm of the chair, a small bundle in her arms, looking at the other two occupants of the room.

"No idea," Sherlock replies nonchalantly by the window, his violin resting on his shoulder, his eyes gazing on the streets below. His hand holds the neck of the violin indifferently. The bow, casually held with his other hand, pointing down on the floor.

He looks god-like with the white greyish light of a grey London shining on him and the rays of the sunlight passing through the window, with his shadow casting upon the air and the floor. His Derek Rose Kensington camel dressing gown gives him that cape-y feeling his Belstaff coat provides him outdoors.

"Well, that's great, innit?" John replies sarcastically. Mary snorts behind him, catching the attention of the fourth person in the room.

Irene Adler, wearing a very familiar blue silk dressing gown, had placed herself on the detective's armchair—claiming her dominance in the room as she takes the chair that symbolises dominance.

She sits curled up on his chair with her legs folded below her and her feet resting on the other arm of her chair as she leans her back on the other. She is positioned in a way that she can look at all the people in the room by just slightly moving her head from left to right. Her arms settle on the space between her torso and her legs, her hands clasped together firmly.

Rosamund—no,  _Mary_ —and Irene silently glance at each other briefly, a small knowing look passes both of them. They shall not tell the men that they have known each other in another life.

"Trouble with some people, I'm guessing," Sherlock replies, finally turning his head to look at the others—particularly, at the woman on his armchair.

"The usual?" John adds, earning a smirk from Irene Adler.

"The usual," Irene replies, "but my coming here is not caused by that." She sighs elegantly and gracefully— _if such a thing is possible, only these two brown-haired idiots can_ , John thinks.

"Then why _are_ you here?" Mary asks quietly and curiously.

Again, the two women glance at each other, neither willing to back down and look away. But they both know their battles and they both know it is Irene who should look away first to prevent suspicion.

Irene turns to look at Sherlock who is still staring at her.

"I have important business and information that may prove to be significant on your part," she finally answers cryptically, pointedly addressing the detective.

"What information?" John asks, learning forward on his seat.

He rests his elbows on his knees and clasps his hands together in front of him, giving Irene Adler his full attention. Sherlock narrows his eyes subtly—an indication that he is, in fact, listening  _intently_. Mary, on the other hand, leans back and raises her head, sitting straight as she watches everyone cautiously.

She knows the Woman, and she knows her slight show of drama would lead to even worse drama. Goodness knows she had had enough drama from her.

"Information I had obtained a few days ago—information that occurred ten weeks ago," she replies once more.

John sighs, rubbing his face with his palms, and proceeding to massage his temples with his left hand from her riddles. Mary sighs exasperatedly but no one seems to notice.

 _This is so her_ , both Watsons think.

" _Ten_ weeks ago?" Sherlock asks, straightening up in obvious alarm.

"Yes," Irene replies.

"People are running after you, yes?" Sherlock asks warily.

"Yes."

"And they acquired information from ten weeks ago?"

"No."

"Well, then—" he stops abruptly and stares at Irene, unsure of what he had heard. He blinks slowly, his brows furrowing in confusion. "No?" he asks as slowly as he blinks, the consonant rolling longer than normal.

"No."

"Then what—?"

Just then, a loud crash echoes from behind them, and the heavy amount of car horns breaking the confused silence that almost fell upon the four adults.

Mary tightens her hold on the smallest Watson, who had woken up and started crying—immediately being hushed and calmed by her mother, before standing up—ready to flee—but a steady hand from John on her lower back stops her from doing so.

Sherlock, who was about to turn on his spot to look outside the window behind him, pauses and stares at Irene as he saw her quick movements.

John and Mary, on the other hand, were quickly up on their feet to look outside of the other window to see what has transpired outside of the flat—a car crash.

No fatalities, no injuries—just a man with a malfunctioning break hitting a lamppost—nothing big, nothing too great—just a mere boring accident.

"Just a car accident," Mary states as both Watsons turn to look at their detective friend.

They stare on worriedly at the intense glare in his eyes—with the recipient of that glare looking back with wide caught but defiant eyes.

Irene is still sitting the same way she had been sitting but now lacking its relaxed state. Her hands now sit on either side of her as if they are limp and unresponsive—a very odd position, indeed. John would even dare say that she seems tensed but successful in hiding it.

"Sherlock?" John asks.

"On hearing a smoke alarm, a mother would look towards her child," he repeats his own words from all these years ago.

Irene's jaw clenched—much to the surprise of the two Watsons—since she was known for her defiance against emotions or, at least, in showing them.

"As I was told," she replies coldly.

" _Mary_ tightened her hold on Rosie at the sound of the crash," Sherlock says again.

"She is _protective_ of her child," Irene replies once more.

"What's going on?" John tries to ask but the non-Watsons ignored him.

Mary turns sideways to look at her husband behind him. "John," she whispers to keep him silent.

Husband and wife stare at each other. Mary tells him through her eyes to let the other two talk whilst John detests on being the only one without a clue of what is going on.

John sighs and places his hands on Mary's arms—a silent agreement that he will do as she says. Rosie makes a small noise that breaks the silence in the room.

They watch as Sherlock walk away from the window, slowly placing the violin and the bow on the table between him and the Watsons, never removing his eyes from Irene.

Irene, in turn, stays in her position but growing tenser and tenser at each step Sherlock takes. He leans down on her dominantly and intently. She meets his gaze defiantly and just as intensely.

She sucks in a breath when his gaze falls on her belly briefly. His eyes meet hers once more. One could say that both pairs of light hued eyes are filled with both fear and anticipation as they wait for one of them to talk.

" _Really_ hope you don't have a baby in here," Sherlock finally says after a stretched silence, echoing his own words once more on the day they first met.

Irene releases a heavy breath—confirming what he thought.

**Author's Note:**

> I saw a post on Tumblr with a GIFset of Sherlock saying "On hearing a smoke alarm, a mother would look towards her child" and "Really hope you don't have a baby in here."
> 
> I immediately thought of this and was only planning on writing two to five sentences about it but it ended up turning to a fic LOL


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